Hellhounds of Baskerville
by tranland
Summary: It's the Apocalypse, and there are weird things happening everywhere. Hellhounds in Baskerville? Looks like Dean, Sam and Cas are going global! And what's with the two British dudes? T for language.
1. Appropriately Hilarious Hunters

**Hey guys! Me again. This fic will be about 4 or 5 chapters. Takes place in the middle of season 5 in SPN and right in the middle of Hounds of Baskerville for Sherlock. Will contain Destiel and possibly Johnlock. Yipee!**

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"Dean."

"Apple or key-lime?"

"Dean."

"I mean, I'm totally an apple guy, but sometimes you just gotta go out there and try everything, right?"

"Dean."

"Wait - isn't key-lime some kind of cheesecake? Ugh, never mind. I hate cheesecake. I'm going with apple."

"_Dean_."

The hunter in question broke out of his reverie and sighed pointedly at him. "What do you want, Sammy?"

"Don't call me Sammy." The gigantic man beside him pouted, his dark eyes narrowing and his lower lip just barely trembling with indignation as his older brother continued to toy with him.

"Is that what you wanted? Me to stop calling you Sammy? Not gonna happen, man." Dean chuckled darkly. Just then, the waitress returned from the kitchen to ask what they wanted for desert. Dean fixed her with an appreciative gaze as he easily asked for a slice of apple pie. As she walked away - more like floated away - Dean turned back to face Sam, who had his Número Uno Bitchface on. He held up his hands in a sign of peace. "Fine, fine, I'll listen. What's the sitch, Wade?"

Sam sighed heavily, but shook out the newspaper he was reading and handed it to his brother. "See, look - Hounds of Hell from Baskerville. Sound like something we could look into?" He cocked one eyebrow at Dean, a silent question in his eyes.

"Isn't Baskerville like, in England or something?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's silent query. "And, what makes you think it's our kinda job? Besides the name, I mean," Dean shrugged at Sam, tapping at his glass of water impatiently. "Just 'cuz it has a weird-ass name doesn't mean anything."

The moose sighed and shook out the newspaper again, reading over the words before saying them out loud. "The inexplicable case of the Hounds of Baskerville has resurfaced; after twenty years of silence, people have begun to claim sightings of the great beasts. The last time anyone had mentioned such close encounters was when Henry Knight's father had been dragged off into the misty forests of Baskerville. Are these horrible hounds reappearing due to the increased production rate of the nearby testing facility? Is this a prank? There is no firm answer, but now is a great time to see for yourself! Buy tickets to their nearest airport and book a night at the Baskerville Inn!" Sam relayed, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. Dean huffed, hunching over and looking into his quirky reflection in the glass of water.

That pie was taking too damn long. "Okay, what? You want us to go to freakin' England to check this out?" Dean looked up, quirking a brow at his baby brother. Sam shrugged, his face open and pleading.

"Well, the Apocalypse isn't only for America, Dean. You know that. The whole 'End of the World' thing usually means the _whole world_. Who knows what's going on in other countries? At least we can help take care of this one. The supernatural sons of bitches are pretty calm in the USA right now, anyway." The waitress returned at that point and, noticing the odd tension that had erupted since her last visit, laid the plate gently on the table as quickly as possible before hurrying off back to the kitchen, most likely to rant and rave about the 'totally obvious office romance vibes' emanating from the two men.

Gross.

Dean picked up his fork and shoved it into his pie violently, but he relaxed as the fork of heaping deliciousness made its way into his mouth. "Mmkay, we c'n go t' Engln'd," He mumbled around his mouthful of Heaven. "B't we need smm h'lp getting there." He swallowed heavily and grinned. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"Dean, how old are you?" When the older man refrained from answering, Sam sighed heavily. "I'm pretty sure Castiel would be more than willing to help us out." Of course, Dean froze up every time Castiel was mentioned. Sam held back the urge to roll his eyes. Dean always acted this way when the little nerdy guy with wings was mentioned. Sam was surprised his brother either didn't realize or didn't act on the fact that he was big-time attracted to the holy tax accountant.

"Cas probably has more interesting things to do than waste time chasing down a dog escapee from Hell," Dean muttered as he looked down at his pie again.

"Hello, Dean. Sam." Castiel's rough voice was sudden enough that it shocked both of the other men, causing Sam to clench his muscles and Dean to flinch - although it was more expected of Dean, since the angel had landed right beside him in the booth.

Dean scooted an inch or two further away from Cas, making sure his plate of pie was securely moved with him. "Jesus, Cas," Dean growled, suddenly hiding the blush that attacked his face, "you don't just pop in on people like that! In public!"

"You also do not want me to show myself to you when you are busy 'in private'. What do you want me to do, Dean?" Castiel asked in a near-exasperated tone. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say the angel was being sarcastic. Then again, Dean didn't know much.

"Well... Whatever," Dean huffed, looking down and definitely not into the goddamn glowing blue eyes of the winged tax accountant. "Can you take us to, uh, Baskerville?"

Cas narrowed his eyes at this request. "That is a much further destination than usual." He announce simply, before almost shrugging and nodding astutely. "All right, I can take you there." He reached out to touch each brother's head, but Dean backed away before Castiel could do anything.

"Wait, man! We gotta pack 'n shit first! This is England, Cas, not the movies."

"Fine. Do you need me to get you to the hotel?" Cas deadpanned, but Dean and Sam both would swear on their lives that they saw a hint of mirth in the normally stoic angel's eyes.

Sam shook his shaggy head gently. "Thanks, but no thanks. We have to pay for the, uh, pie." He gestured to the plate that was mysteriously void of pie. Sam looked up to see Dean's chipmunk impression. The freckled hunter tried something that Sam could only call a smile, although most people would probably call an ambulance. Sam Bitchfaced Dean one last time before standing up and placing a wad of cash on the table. "Uh, that's taken care of. Let's get going, Dean." Castiel stood with them, and even Dean was slightly (and pleasantly, shut up) surprised when he managed to climb in to the back seat of the Impala when they reached it.

"You comin' with us for a ride, Cas? Thought you hated this thing," Dean chuckled, trying and succeeding in covering up his happiness with a gruff smile.

Castiel merely nodded. "She seems happier when the three of us are together." He told them in earnest, gesturing to the car as he spoke. Dean and Sam shared a look, then Sam shrugged and slid his seatbelt on. Dean, however, turned around to stare at Cas again.

"You mean Baby actually - y'know - feels?" Immediately he felt guilty for literally every bang and scratch that Baby had gotten since John started using her for hunting.

Castiel tilted his head, sending the duh-didn't-you-know-this-already? look straight at him. "Of course, Dean. The Impala, although different from yours and Sam's, has a soul of its own." Castiel seemed to clam up about it after, however, when Dean began asking about which brother she liked best. Dean took it as letting Sammy down softly, knowing that he really secretly loved Baby and just wouldn't tell Dean. Plus, the whole iPod jack thing had been pretty unacceptable. Dean wasn't even sure he'd forgive his little brother if he shoved a crappy music player down his good music playing throat, either. He patted the wheel gently before starting the car and speeding off to the seedy, nameless motel, in the seedy, nameless town in the middle of a district that even the people that lived in it didn't really know of its existence.

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Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had just arrived in Baskerville. They had settled their rooms in the Baskerville Inn, each taking their respective beds. Sherlock demanded to sleep in the bed nearest the window; John was too tired to argue. The kind-of-ex-doctor collapsed on his bed, letting out a moan of sleepy happiness as the bed enveloped him in a warm embrace of blankets. Sherlock was quick to fix this sort of behavior as he shook his blogger into a semi-conscious state and began to pack up a small shoulder-bag to bring with him to the scene of the sighting.

"Come on, John," Sherlock grinned, "we don't have all day! The trail will get cold!" He pulled up John from the bed and all but dragged him out the door.


	2. Incredibly Dense Detectives

**AN: Happy Thursday! Since I have a whole ton of free time in class today, I decided to polish up a chapter and post it today instead of tomorrow! Sorry if it isn't too great, I've been trying to beat it into submission but it just doesn't work. Tell me if it's all right? Thanks! **

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Supernatural... I would call up Misha Collins and force him to let me babysit his kids. But I don't. So. -gross sobbing-**

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Three men appeared on the bluff closest to the Baskerville mine field. Two held bulging bags close to their chests, looking around with wide eyes. "So... England." Dean breathed. "Still don't get why chicks find the dudes here so attractive."

"I believe it has to do with the exotic quality of their accent along with the lack of difficulty in communication." Castiel noted, looking off to the large testing facility on the left. "But I'm not sure."

It was odd that they hadn't noticed the other man inspecting the bluff, but that was quickly remedied when Dean noticed a gun pointed at him. The man holding the weapon had a thin-but-floppy mess of blonde hair. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, and a tight frown was etched into his face. Dean raised up his hands in a sign of peace; making sure that he gave Sam the glance that meant _prepare to kill some sons of bitches, man. _His eyes sparkled with pride as he saw his little brother nod imperceptibly and his hand sneak down to the gun he owned in the waist pocket of his jeans.

"Grab that gun and your brother loses his brain." An accented voice sounded out from the rocks around the bluff, startling Dean and Sam but having no effect on Mr. Gun and Cas. Dean craned his head to glare at Castiel.

"Dude, do something!" He exclaimed, his hands trembling with worry. Castiel tilted his head at the man holding the gun.

"This is a human, Dean. What would you suggest I do?" The angel bit at him bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You would resent me for incapacitating him after I save you."

Dean had had enough of this shit. "I don't freaking care right now, Cas! There is a fucking gun _pointed at my head_! Help a guy out here!"

The blonde man cocked his gun, looking around the rocks warily as if waiting for a command. "I doubt your he can help you. My... friend here can pull the trigger before he can get ten feet." The disembodied voice called out, echoing around the misty rocks. Dean chuckled darkly as Castiel's face tightened.

"Oh dude, you have no idea." Dean rumbled. Sam sighed, his hand hitting his forehead in resignation. Cas was gone, and a muffled shout signified the owner of the odd voice was found.

Cas reappeared again, this time holding a tall man by his dark scarf. He wasn't as tall as Sammy, mind you, but he was respective in his own height. His eyes flickered with something unnameable, some spark that not many humans Dean met had possessed. He was pouting, however. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest as he locked eyes with the gunman. "John, I saw you looking for me. Next time, try for a statue impersonation." He quipped drily. "The aliens seem to have captured me."

"Perhaps you should have hidden better," Castiel suggested. "It was hardly a challenge to find you."

"We're not freakin' aliens," Dean growled, his own gun now resting in his hand after the moment's confusion. The man named John frowned fiercely at Dean, who only smirked in response. "My buddy says you're human. I trust him. Be glad - otherwise you'd be full of holes."

John's frown worsened. "Why wouldn't we be human? Were you expecting ghosts?" He had a feeling Sherlock would be at least a little interested in the case - if he could stop pouting about the man who had teleported him in to the very center of attention, that is.

"If you don't know the answer to that question, I shouldn't be giving it to you." Dean bit at John. Sherlock squinted at him, tilting head and sniffling slightly.

"Your boyfriend must have some form of extremely fast movement - how did he do it?" The world's only consulting detective glared at the rebellious angel, and Dean spluttered with indignation.

"He's not my boyfriend!" He shouted, his hand lowering for a split second before steadying out and aiming for Sherlock this time. "Can't get a good read," He sneered, "What are you, a psychic? Cuz if you are-"

"People claiming to have connections to the other side are simply desperate to make money. There is no such thing as the supernatural, which all three of you so obviously believe in." Sherlock's lips twisted into a small, wicked smile. "He isn't your partner? That's odd. I was sure..." He trailed off into a quiet chuckle, shaking his head softly before returning to a serious posture. "Still, you are all clearly insane." He turned to John. "Come on now, we don't have much time before it gets dark - the best time to look around for bloodthirsty dogs is in the daylight, you know." this order was followed by an amused sigh from John.

"Wait a minute - you're looking for _hellhounds_ and you don't believe in the things that go bump in the night? You've gotta be kidding me." Sam ran one hand though his hair nervously, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two other men.

"No, these aren't fictional hounds of Hell. There are two options here: either there is a pack of wolves in the forest, and the radiation from the testing facility is beginning to wear off on the wolves - highly unlikely, but it would explain the bloody messes on the forest floor - or someone is pulling an elaborate prank on a young man who lost his father to extremely traumatic instances." The consulting detective smirked smugly, proud of his inductions.

"Dean, these men are going to get themselves killed if they continue in this train of thought. I can sense the demonic presence - these are not wolves, nor an elaborate joke." Castiel's voice was lower than usual as he whispered quickly to Dean, avoiding Sherlock's piercing gaze and making sure they did not hear him.

"All right, what do you want us to do?" Dean growled back, his voice nearly reaching Cas-like gravellyness. "Wanna do the flashy wing thing?" He didn't really want anyone else to see his angel's wings, but if it was necessary he would let them see. He felt a pang at possibly losing something that he shared with Cas, and Cas alone. Then a weird feeling due to claiming the angel as _his_.

Oh well. In his line of work, personal possessions were things of rarity. Maybe it was a family thing. Sammy was _his_ brother, Bobby _his_ surrogate father. Cas was just _his_ angel.

"I am sure I do not need to show off my wings to convince them of the truth," Castiel murmured. He turned to face the two English men. "Sherlock Holmes; John Watson, you two are in an insurmountable amount of danger if you continue investigating this case. Forces beyond your control will devour you and drag you to Hell."

"Literally," Dean added, "And it's our job to make sure civvies like you are safe from fuglies like hellhounds." the hunter shuddered, and Sherlock's head tilted once more as he inspected Dean and the angel.

"You wouldn't happen to read John's blog here, would you?" Sherlock ruffled the blonde man's hair affectionately, a sheepish smile upon his face. The three other men gave John blank stares. No, apparently. "All right, then. John, you stay with the crazies. I'll go solve the mad dog case."

Dean jumped to attention, and glared at Sherlock. "Like hell you are. Take Cas with you, at least."

"No. I will not bring an insane man with me while looking for evidence, no matter how strangely useful he might be." His voice was absolute as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sam's nostrils flared as he tried to keep himself calm. John snorted. _Of course_ Sherlock's anally retentive need to work alone would overcome whatever weirdness had just transpired.

"Listen, we're not leaving until you agree to bring us along. You don't even have to spend time around us - we just want to make sure you're good. Safety in numbers, right? If they are just wild dogs - well, those are still dangerous." The giant of a man spread his arms out graciously, a bashful smile on his face.

Sherlock was silent as he examined Sam. There was something odd about him. The way he stood spoke of years upon years of guilt and secrecy, and his face - although calm and open, spoke of lies and broken trust. Sherlock's eyes flicked to Dean's slight figure, noting the way his body instinctively curved to Cas's while simultaneously cringing away from Sam's - all minute details in his posture, unnoticeable to most normal people. Ah, betrayal left that imprint on a man. From what Sherlock could induce, Sam betrayed Dean, and Castiel most likely helped him get over the shattered bond. The similarities in facial features suggested Sam and Dean were brothers, as did the way they acted towards each other. Dean, although smaller, was definitely the older brother. His eyes spoke of a tortured past. Dean seemed more more delicate than the giant man beside him, and judging by the way his pupils dilated and his breathing got heavier when the hellhounds were brought up, he feared the 'beasts'. He seemed frantic to make sure Sherlock and John were safe as they searched for the dogs.  
Maybe Sherlock could trust the shorter of the brothers. If he wanted to accompany Sherlock and John, so be it.

But Sam and Castiel, however, were not to be trusted. While Sam's body spoke of a past of lies and power plays and pain, Castiel's was empty of information to him. Irene flashed through his mind and he suppressed a shiver. While the strange woman had eventually loosened up to his mind's ministrations, this man's body seemed as frozen as if it had been encased in ice. The only time he got even a snippet of information was when Dean was involved - the man seemed to care a little too much about the freckled nuisance. Cas did seem to be more earnest than Sam, but Sherlock had learned never to trust people you can't read.

"All right, I will allow you, Dean and Cas along with John and I... but if you try anything just know that I am in fact the world's only consulting detective - someone will find us." Sherlock smiled grimly as he gave his ultimatum. The three men shared a look, and Dean broke it with a shrug.

"Okay, lead the way," he announced gruffly. "We got monsters to gank. And," Dean's voice had turned rough, "you can call him Castiel. Not Cas."


	3. Impossibly Aesthetic Angels

**AN: Well, I'm an asshole. Sorry I couldn't update yesterday, I went to a covert and was exhausted by the time I got back home! Anyways, this chapter is fluffy, painful, and... strange. Word of warnin: updating might get a little difficult from now on, since finals and winter break are busy, freaky times. I still have a few chapters done, though! Thanks for reading! Now, how about a few reviews? Please?**

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JThe mist seemed to choke the four humans as they trekked through the forest. Castiel, however, attempted to remain impassive as the fog swirled around them. He could feel a demonic presence, but the feeling was so overwhelming that it pressed in on him from all sides. Dean seemed to notice his discomfort and placed what he assumed was a reassuring hand on the small of his back. Castiel nodded gratefully at the hunter before flexing his shoulders and spreading out his senses once more.

A sickening black blot was splattered across his mind's eye. One of the hounds had scented them. It wouldn't be too long before it warned the pack. Castiel stiffened and shot his wings out, finding the hound within seconds and destroying it before it had the chance to warn its brothers. Castiel returned immediately to Dean's side, aware that Sherlock and John would notice the lack of his presence after a few minutes.

Luckily, neither human seemed to have noticed his disappearance besides Dean, who fixed him with a questioning look. Castiel grunted out, "Hellhound," and Dean nodded gratefully. Without hesitating, Dean held Cas back and stopped walking. Sam passed them with a questioning glance, but Dean shook his head and gestured with his hands for Sam to continue on with the other two humans. He frowned at this, but continued all the same. After a moment, and certain that no one else could hear them, Dean fixed Castiel with a gaze so intense it could have melted his very Grace.

"You found one of the dogs." It was not a question. Castiel nodded, biting back the urge to move closer to Dean. He did not like it when Castiel invaded his private space.

"It was going to warn the pack that an angel had happened upon their hunting grounds," Castiel murmured quietly, suddenly aware of the utter silence around them.

"Could you tell how many more there are? Three, ten, two hundred?" Dean was insistent, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder and gripping him tightly. It sparked something within Castiel's stomach - a deep, slow burn that he quickly ignored.

"Judging by the size of it, I would say this is a relatively small pack - the bigger the hound, the less need there is for a team to take down prey. There should be somewhere around five to ten hellhounds in this pack."

Dean smacked his own face, the slap of skin hitting skin ringing through the forest for a second. "How big are the hellhounds, Cas?"

"No larger than a normal wolf, by your standards." Dean's other hand slipped from Castiel's shoulder, and the imprint where his hand had been burned with the cool forest air.

"So we are hunting five or ten big, bloodthirsty hounds of Hell that decided to take up residence in freaking England. Awesome." He threw both hands in the air, in a sign of exasperation. "Think Crowley decided to breed some grade-A asshounds on the Motherland?" He flipped around to face Castiel, who only continued to stare into Dean's glinting eyes. They were more green than the forest around them - they spoke of sunny summer leaves, with sunlight speckling the ground in tiny bursts of light. Castiel wished he could watch Dean's eyes for the rest of time, but there was no Heaven that was specifically that. It was why he enjoyed the autistic man's Heaven - it was an endless summer, just like looking into the freckled hunter's eyes.

He shook himself out of his reverie before Dean could wonder what he was up to, but it seemed Dean had been lost to his gaze as well. "We should catch up with the others," Castiel suggested, "I am too far to sense if the hounds have snuck up on them."

Dean nodded in agreement, and with a tint to his cheeks, grabbed Castiel's hand. "You don't need to do the forehead-thing, right? Any contact could do?" At Castiel's confused nod, he smiled. "All right, then this is fine. I don't need no angel feelin' up my face."

Castiel was confused as to why Dean wanted to hold his hand all of a sudden. He was not complaining, as Dean's hand was warm against the chill of the English forest, but it was... odd. It mattered not, however, as Castiel appeared directly behind Sam merely moments later. His reaction, claimed Dean, was 'never going to be lived down'. Castiel didn't really understand what that meant.

Sam shook his head of floppy brown hair and sighed. "Sherlock and John noticed you two left. Sherlock was sure you guys were making out and that you're both hiding a gay relationship from all of us because of your 'insecure father issues,'" Sam quoted and spoke the words in a snobby British accent. Dean grimaced, and Castiel noted the hint of a blush on his cheeks. Perhaps Dean was abashed by this idea - Castiel was still not entirely familiar with human emotions and such. True, he was one of the more human-like angels in the world, only inferior to Balthazar and Gabriel, yet he was still confounded by the strange antics they insisted on.

"Good, you're back from your... oh," Sherlock announced, then paused and Castiel noticed Dean held back a chuckle, "you weren't having a roll in the hay?" He looked genuinely perplexed at this, and it made Castiel's Grace twirl in amusement.

"Dean and I do share a more profound bond than most people, but our relationship is strictly platonic." He instinctively hid the twinge of regret that attempted to color his voice. Sherlock's eyes flicked to Dean, then back to Castiel. He seemed extremely confused. He threw his hands up in the air and sighed heavily.

"I don't have time for relationship counseling. Come see me after we solve this case - then maybe I'll get your idiotic heads straight." The world's only consulting detective pinched his nose between two fingers before looking around once more. "I haven't found a definitive presence of the dogs, but I noticed -"

"Cas over here already ganked one, so... we know what's going on here." Dean was smug as he blasted a grin at Sherlock. John gasped in surprise, while Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel knew he was preparing what Dean would call a 'bitch fit'. "Yeah, definitely one of the things that goes bump in the night." He pulled out a gun - the Colt, in fact - and smiled devilishly as he cocked the barrel and made sure there were enough bullets in it. "This is a job for us, really. You two should just go home. It's starting to get dark." He nodded to the fast-approaching dark blue stain in the sky, which was creeping towards them at a steady pace.

"We're, uh, staying at an Inn not too far from here... there isn't much to do, and Sherlock gets rather pissy when he can't finish a case," John stated quietly, as Sherlock fixed Dean with a glare that almost promised certain death.

Of course, it was Dean's turn to get 'pissy'. "Listen, you and _Boy Wonder_ over there might think you own the world, but let me burst that bubble real quick - there are things out here,_ right now_, that will tear you apart and drag your asses down to the very depths of Hell. And, no offense, but I'm not willing to send an angel down after you. We're stretched kind of thin." His voice was low; a deep, seductive growl that forced Cas to use his Grace so that the effect wouldn't show up too well on his vessel. He noticed Sherlock's curious gaze, but fixed the detective with a glare so fierce the detective had no choice but to face Dean once more. "So get to your damn Inn, lock your doors, and salt every entrance possible. It won't keep 'em out forever, but it'll have to do - just in case."

"We have no time to be arguing about whether a _dog_ that can drag a man down to Hell exists," Sherlock grumbled. Oh dear. Castiel could see Dean's soul pulsating with righteous fury.

"They exist," Dean snarled, and at Sherlock's raised eyebrow, the hunter clenched one hand into a tight fist, making sure he had a firm grip on the gun in his other hand. "They exist," he repeated, "because I have felt them _ripping_ into my skin. They tore out my goddamn _throat_!" He was shouting now, but Castiel would not warn him to quiet down - he would only cause Dean to yell louder. "They dragged me down, and I will _never_ forget." He stopped then, biting his lower lip and visibly shaking. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, right over the brand he had placed on Dean. A wave of comforting Grace washed through from Castiel into Dean, and the hunter visibly relaxed.

Of course, as soon as he stops paying attention to his surroundings, the hounds find them. A whorl of inky black poison bursted across his vision, and the hellish beasts slunk in and around them from the trees. Dean stiffened, his pupils shrinking to near-nonexistent proportions. Sam pulled out the demon-killing knife, and slipped into a battle-ready crouch. Castiel let the burn of his Grace swim in his fingertips, and he knew his eyes glowed with the slightest indication of his true power. Sherlock and John jumped at the growls that had erupted around them, but they saw nothing as they searched with wild eyes.

"What is that noise?" John asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"What I warned you about," Dean glared at the space around him. He spared one moment to glance at Castiel, flashing wide, scared eyes at the angel. "I can see them," he breathed, "Why can I see them?"

Castiel noted the panic seeping in to his voice - and he wasn't the only one. Snarls of sick pleasure erupted around them, and Castiel (Dean, too) watched warily as a few hounds stepped closer to the group. Sam tried to follow their gazes, but it was clear he could see nothing - his eyes never focused on the writhing masses of evil that had surrounded them.

The hounds were rank, with steam rising from their ripped flesh. Blood dripped from rips in their physique, where ribs and other bones peeked through the scarred fur. Their tails wagged with devilish glee, yet they were no more than small, bony stubs that poked out from their behinds. Their muzzles were pulled back in demonic grins, with jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. The eyes were a glowing red, unlike any color Dean had seen before. Castiel, however, had seen it enough times in his existence.

Castiel could sense Dean's immediate distress, and he spared barely a moment's pause before reaching out with his Grace and attempting to soothe him. He realized that Sam and the other humans were blind to the atrocities before them, so he merely rolled his shoulders and felt his wings shift in the air. They were not visible to human eyes, but they were on a plane closer to the existence the humans were on - perhaps a clairvoyant or a highly esteemed religious figure could see their outlines.  
Castiel shifted his wings, allowing the power centering in them to flow through his vessel. There were three hounds, which was a difficult battle enough. He knew he would have to be very delicate about this. "You all need to close your eyes."

"Dude, there's only like three of 'em! We can take them," Dean insisted with wide eyes. Castiel shook his head.

"They have caught our scent. If we do anything less than completely obliterate them, the rest of the pack will be upon us like - well, a pack of angry dogs." The angel argued, knowing that his eyes were shining brightly as he spoke with authority. "Now close your eyes, all of you!"

Sam and Dean wasted no time in clapping a hand over their eyes, and they both had the insight to do the same for Sherlock and John, who had both been staring at Castiel with a look of amazed awe.

Certain that he would not harm any of the humans, Castiel loosened his vice-like grip on Jimmy Novak's body. He let all six of his wings unfurl, the energy that ran through them sparking like a roaring fire. The hellhounds shrank back, their glowing eyes wide with fear and instinct to get away. After a few paw-steps backwards, Castiel let go completely of his vessel, and fully showed himself to the demonic dogs.

They disintegrated on the spot, with nothing more than a whimper to indicate their annihilation.

Castiel slowly sank back into Jimmy's body, curling up four of his wings and letting the largest pair slip into another plane of existence again. His light toned down until he shined as Dean's own soul did. "You may look now," he announced.

Sherlock and John were quick to push the hunter's hands off of their faces, and their eyes were wide with shock. "What the bloody hell was that?" John breathed.

Dean clapped Castiel on the back, a sly smirk on his face. "That, my dear Watson, was an angel." At Sherlock and John's confused looks, Dean chuckled. Sam was busy giving Dean what he would no doubt name 'Bitch Face Number Fifty-Four'. "Y'know, warrior of God and all that?"

"No, that can't be. It was a - a trick of the light. The fog, along with heightened adrenaline... no. There is no way..." Sherlock was not one for stammering, but John looked shaken to his core. "It is not possible."

John looked like he was ready to faint. Castiel took a gentle step forward, hands low at his side. "I know this is a lot to take in-"

"A lot to take in?" John echoed, astounded. "You're right, it's a whole _bloody_ lot to take in! You're telling us that Hell is a real place? Demons are real?"

Shrugging, Dean smirked. "Vampires and demons and ghosts, oh my." A dark chuckle erupted from his lips. John paled, and Sherlock stiffened. Sam shuffled his feet nervously.

"We should probably get you guys back to your room, huh?" The gigantic man suggested with a bashful smile.

As Castiel stepped forward to transport the men away, Sherlock held up one hand to stop him. "One question, if you don't mind."

At Dean and Sam's careful nod, Sherlock turned to face them, his ocean-colored eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Why do you choose to kill these things? There must have been some instigator for this kind of life." His question pricked at the brother's hearts, yet Dean hid it with a slick smile. Sam merely turned away, refusing to look either British man in the eye.

"What can I say," Dean began with a broken smirk, "we're on a mission." Castiel frowned; he knew where this was going. "From _God_."


End file.
